Comfort
by Lariren-Shadow
Summary: She knows that they have four Districts to go on their Victory Tour and she knows the whole train is talking about how he comes to her room every night. K/P
1. Comfort

**A/N**: I've been wanting to write something like this since October. In the mean time I had other fics I needed to write. I hope this makes sense.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

She knows that they have four Districts to go on their Victory Tour and she knows the whole train is talking about how he comes to _her_ room every night. For a second she let's herself think it might be more scandalous if she were to go to his room every night. That might make President Snow happy.

She knows where this started, during the night and somewhere between Districts 10 and 9. She woke up screaming from the muttation eyes of Rue to Peeta calmly stroking her hair like he did in the cave. For a second she wondered if their winning was a fever-induced fantasy before she felt the sweat cool on her brow and the soft sheets caress her lethargic limbs.

"Shhh," he soothed her, "I'm here. You're not alone." Those words were as good as all her winnings. As he tucked himself into her bed she breathes in his scent that _can't_ be from the arena. He smells like paint and the faintly off fresh scent that clings to all their new Capitol made clothes. In the arena he smelled like sweat, dirt, and sour.

She curls into him and forgets that she has to love him and that he simply loves her and that their friendship is still as fragile as a soap bubble. Instead she focuses on his arms around her and, for once, takes comfort in not being alone and knowing that the same images and feelings that haunt her live in him too.

* * *

She doesn't expect him to come back the next night. She welcomes him with open arms and a warm bed but doesn't offer anything more than a hug and "I'm glad you're here." Again she feels him kiss the crown of her head.

She wishes she was as good an actress as everyone wants her to be.

* * *

They keep their nightly visits a secret between Districts 9 and 7. By 6 they've become the talk of the train. By the morning they arrive in 5 even her prep team ask her about her nightly rendezvous with her lover. She blushes like she should.

She's not sure if her face heats up because she's angry she has no secrets or because she's embarrassed that the moments she thought might be truly private (save possibly from the Capitol) are known up and down the train.

After their ride through the main part of District 5 they enjoy (Effie's word, not her's) lunch on the train. She's noticed they're escorted (forced) back to the train more and more the closer they get to the Capitol and the longer they continue their journey. Maybe they'll have to stop, she thinks idly as she spoons a small, but Effie, Peeta, and Haymitch satisfying, portion of lamb stew on to her plate. It tastes like leather when she eats it but she knows Cinna is already cinching the waists on the dresses he's designed for her.

"I can't wait till we stop in 4," Effie gushes as she helps herself to a roll with more butter on it than Katniss could have hoped to afford before she won.

"Why?" Peeta asks. He always knows how to lead people into giving them answers.

"For the fresh seafood of course!" One of his prep team exclaims.

"You haven't lived till you have fresh lobster," Octavia gushes. Haymitch snorts and Katniss knows she can do without fresh crustaceans.

"Maybe we'll even get some oysters," Flavius says before taking a sip of tea and leaving a half circle of purple on his cup.

"They're aphrodisiacs," Venia says with a wiggle of her eyebrows that make her gold tattoos dance. "Not that you two need it."

She laughs hesitantly as Peeta reaches for her hand across the table. _Play the part_, she wills herself as she clutches Peeta's hand like he's drowning.

She thinks maybe she's the one who should be clinging to him.

* * *

That night she wraps her limbs around him. After facing Foxface's family and biting back comforting words of _she was cleaver _and _she could have won_ and watching them glare at Peeta for his completely benign yet deadly pile of berries that killed their daughter, she knows the worse is yet to come with District 2 but she's not sure if she can face them.

"I hate the families," she tells him as he strokes her back in an oddly intimate gesture. That's what they've become though, intimate friends. At least that's what she tells herself.

"It has been getting worse," he confirms. "It's much more personal when you remember something of their child."

She doesn't respond. Instead she focuses on his breathing and the rushing of the slightly salty air through the window he opened.

"I want to give Clove's parents the portrait I painted of her," he admits softly.

"The one with her knives?"

"Mmm," he murmurs. "She told us her parents were so proud of her. Then again they all boasted while we were together but she was the only one who mentioned her parents."

She knows parents are a sore subject with him, just like they are with her. She wonders what it must have felt like for him after the reaping, realizing he would be against the girl he thinks he loves and having his mother basically tell him he's going to die.

She can't vocalize her question.

"Just try to give it to them," she says instead. "Painting is your talent, you should be able to do what you want with it."

"Just like the money is ours and we should be able to give it to whom we want to," he responds rationally. He's always been better at remembering all the rules to the deadly games they play.

His hand slows on her back but she's not sure she's ready for sleep yet.

"What was your favorite thing to decorate in the bakery?" Asking him questions about breads, cakes, and cookies always assures her precious waking minutes.

"The cookies and cakes for fall," he tells her sleepily. "All the reds, yellows, and especially oranges I got to use made them beautiful. Everyone loves the spring and summer flowers but I think fall is more beautiful."

"You can put them on my birthday cake," she tells him.

"When's your birthday?" It's something friends should know and definitely something star-crossed lovers should.

"May 8th."

"Spring, you deserve flowers."

"I'd rather have orange leaves and green grass."

"I promise I'll do my best."

"When's yours?"

"When's my what?" He asks as his hand slows even more and his voice fills with sleep.

"Your birthday."

"About a month ago. My family came over for dinner, you must have seen them."

It's then she realizes he lives alone. She can't imagine having that huge house and being all alone though she knows that's how Haymitch lives. There's something different, though, between Haymitch's self-imposed solitude and Peeta's.

"Do you see them often?"

"At least once a week. Dad tries to come over more than Mom does."

"Come over for dinner sometime."

"You're inviting me over for dinner? What would your mother say?" He teases.

"That I should have been doing this more often if we're supposed to be as in love as we say we are," she tells him bitterly. She feels him stiffen below her and she knows she's gone too far. "I'm sure Prim would like it if you came over. You could meet Lady."

"Her goat?"

"And get some of the goat cheese for yourself."

"Maybe I'll use it in a tart," he offers and she knows he's accepting her invitation again.

The smell of salt is stronger now and she in hales deeply before she burrows into his side to try to sleep peacefully. She knows that is impossible but at least she has him.

When she thinks he's asleep and she's on the edge she whispers "thank you for being here every night."

As she drifts off she thinks she hears "I'll always be here for you." And even if she didn't really hear it she knows those words are true.

* * *

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	2. Need

**A/N**: I really didn't plan on continuing this but here's a companion piece from Peeta's perspective. I don't think it's as good.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own.

* * *

He wishes he could dream about a happy future with her. He dreams about her but in his dreams she's bleeding or dead or being tortured. He misses his old dreams.

He doesn't hate the dark, however. Night means he gets to hold her in his arms. Not the perfectly painted and perfectly smiling and in love Katniss he has on his arm during the day but the scrubbed clean, hair braided, real Katniss that curls up with him and actually talks to him.

After he wakes from his nightmares and in the precious time before she does he wonders they could have been an "us" without the Games. He likes to fool himself into thinking they could have.

He had a plan. After their final reaping he was going to have baked her something (he wasn't sure what, possibly the bread with the raisins and nuts) and bring it to her house. He was going to ask her out on a date. He was going tell her he noticed her and how sweetly she sang.

His plans became ashes in her fire.

* * *

District 4's families are harder to look at than he thought. He knew the girl, Brigid, even if he knew she would gleefully stab him in the chest when the time came. He paints her talking with Glimmer and Clove. He paints her full of tracker jacker stingers. The Capitol has seen both, he assumes.

_This is how Katniss felt in 11_ he thinks as he looks into the eyes of the families.

He sits by the window on the train and watches the sun set over the ocean. He wants to paint this scene but all he can think of is the Careers he knew.

He's not looking forward to 2 and 1.

* * *

Everyone (the Stylists) complain about how boring 3 is. They chatter about how they can't wait to get back to the Capitol while enjoying their fresh oysters for breakfast.

Effie clears her throat. "Peeta," she begins looking at him with her too big smile. "Katniss, I think it's time the three of us had a little chat."

He watches Katniss glace at Haymitch. She's always looking to Haymitch for guidance.

"This is probably about you two being in the closet for twenty minutes last night," Haymitch grumbles. "It's your own fault for not being more alert."

"I was going to phrase it better than that," Effie snaps. He assumes she penciled 'give Katniss and Peeta a talk about proper etiquette and why they should not sneak off' into the daily schedule. The Stylists, Portia, and Cinna take this as their cue to leave. Haymitch sips his doctored coffee and waves his hand for her to continue. Effie huffs, obviously wanting this conversation to be private. He's happy Haymitch is here.

"I understand you two are currently over come with certain emotions. Young love will do that." He swears her cheeks are turning red under her white make-up. "There is, however, a time and a place for them. I can make excuses for you two while you dally for a few minutes but I will not let you hide. We've," she's including Haymitch now, "have stopped you two enough times for you to know not to sneak off." He thinks she looks pleased with herself when she finishes.

Katniss sits motionless and expressionless. He misses the emotions that changed her features. He takes her hand and smiles. "We're sorry and we'll never let it happen again," he promises like a contrite child.

Effie smiles again and he knows they'll be sneaking off tonight. After all, it's part of their act to stay alive.

* * *

They return to the train after dinner and getting caught kissing in the hallway. He knows she's acting but he could drink her kisses. He almost follows their new nightly routine of making a show of going to their separate rooms before he sneaks into hers. Instead after changing into his pajamas he goes to the car full of his paintings.

He wants to paint something. He needs to. All he can see when he closes his eyes are Cato sharpening his sword, Glimmer and Clove sorting out the food, Marvel untangling a net, all images he desperately wants to forget.

He decides to paint the girls.

Hours later his pants have dried paint on them and his back feels stiff but he has the larger parts of the painting done. He's working on the details and fixing the light. He wants to get it _just right_ but his eyelids are getting heavy and his brush strokes are getting messy.

He wonders if Katniss has been able to fall asleep without him. He almost hopes she needs him there as much as he needs her.

Silently he makes his way to her room. Her door is unlocked as it has been since their first night together.

She's tossing and turning, tangled in the sheets. Her face is contorted in pain and part of him breaks a little bit more. He should have been there for her.

Sometimes he feels like their whole relationship is based on the word should.

"Peeta," she whimpers desperately. He can't help but warm at the thought of her dreaming about him.

He climbs awkwardly into her bed, still not used to maneuvering his artificial leg. He turns her over and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. He strokes her hair as she wakes.

"You didn't come earlier." He hates the accusation in her voice.

"I had to paint," he tells her softly.

She's quiet long enough for him to assume she's fallen back asleep. He kisses the crown of her head.

"Warn me if you do that again," she mumbles into his shirt.

She doesn't tell him not to kiss her when they're alone. Maybe not all of their kisses are for show.

* * *

2 is hell. Not arena hell but a different special kind that he now knows all Victors must suffer through.

Cato was the middle child. He has an older sister and a younger brother, both of whom look like they trained as well. There's a chance his first mentee will be facing that boy.

Clove was the youngest with three older brothers. Her mother is actually crying and looks like she hasn't stopped since her death. 2 is known for training but nothing trains the parents. He doesn't think his mother would have cried that much if he had died; she told him enough that he was an accident.

He clutches Katniss' hand as he reads the speech Effie gave him this morning. He wants to say more and thinks this must have been how she felt in 11.

That night he tangles himself in her. He desperately wants to kiss her, really kiss her, to remind himself that there is something worth living for.

"I want the Tour to be over," he confesses instead.

"We're almost done. Just 1 and the Capitol before we head back home."

Home to his empty house. Home to ignoring her because she still can't see that Hawthorne loves her and she _won't_ let him, Peeta, really love her.

"Will you come over sometime?" He asks into her hair. He's going to miss being this close to her every night.

"I'll bring you some squirrels," she tells him.

He wants to tell her she doesn't need to do that. He wants to tell her she can just come over, that she's always welcome at his house, that if she can't ever sleep at night she can come curl up in his bed. He wants to but he loses the words. She's the only person that makes him speechless.

He pulls her closer, thinks _I love you_ but says "or strawberries."

"Or strawberries in the spring," she agrees before burrowing into his neck.

No matter how horrible he feels during the day or what terrors await when he sleeps he knows he has these moments with the girl he loves. He'll have them even when the Tour is over and they sleep alone. And that, he thinks, is what he needs.

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